Time is my enemy now, until I finally sleep the last sleep. I used to think it was the evil Trinity of chronic pain, depression and insomnia that was my nemesis. These are adding to the frustration of course, and control my body and mind, but it is Time) that is working against me. I am constantly fighting to get things done, while the clock is spinning wildly.
I don’t have enough time left to live for starters. My wife scoffs when I say this, but I figure I’m at about the 85% mark in my life. Meaning I’ve lived most of it, and if I manage to make it to 80 it will be either by sheer luck or stupidity.
Suffering with this much pain and depression for another 12 years? That would be stupid. I’m trying to move forward, dealing with everything that has happened in my life. The need to get the “job” of achieving some sort of balance done before I leave this earth.
Friends tell me I should be proud of being strong enough to persevere. On one hand I berate myself for not being stronger. On the other hand, I know that what I’m going through would be difficult for anyone.
Today I consider myself as another failure when giving in to the pain, having to raise the white flag and surrender. My inability to tolerate this pain without increasing the dose of hydromorphone is another sign of weakness. I realize this is fueled by my mental illness, which takes everything simple and turns it into a major issue. A mountain out of a molehill.
80 years old used to be considered a long life, but even the tax man now uses 95 for average life expectancy. 27 more years of this? No way in hell I can tolerate this for that long. I am not that strong. Why do I feel pressured to tolerate the pain and depression better than I am now? I bring that on myself.
As it stands now the clock is running faster than normal. My 10 or 12 hours of good time, where I used to be able to function, has shrunk to 6 or 8 hours.
I can’t get up to speed until 9:00 am, fueled by my first dose of pain meds. Then I usually forget the second dose after lunch, and by 3:00 can barely get off the chair. Another dose of morphine to bring the pain down from 7 to 5 on the pain scale. I can still get some things done, at least feed the dogs or play piano but the pain is ever present.
So from 9:00 in the morning I have 6 hours to cram in 10 hours of work for the day. My purpose in life, the two dogs that love me unconditionally, are really my one and only priority. To treat them with respect and love in return takes up 2-3 hours every day, but if that’s all I can accomplish that’s good enough for the day. I can write that, but I’m not being honest.
Everything else on my plate or in my calendar items are simply added pressures that I put on myself. I don’t need to write 4 hours a day, or fix and repair the house, or play piano. I’m on no one else’s deadlines to meet.
You might think that being retired you would have all the time in the world to do everything you want.. Ha. I’m running out of time and things are falling by the wayside.
I need to quit caring so much and just go fishing.
But I don’t have time.